


Mainsprings And Crown Wheels

by Jenwryn



Category: Death Note
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Podfic Available, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-21
Updated: 2008-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something about Matt, but Mello isn't willing to make the admissions that would let him understand it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mainsprings And Crown Wheels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tierfal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierfal/gifts).



> Written for Tierfal, who introduced me to the fandom.
> 
> Unbeta'd.
> 
> There is a podfic version available [here](http://audiofic.jinjurly.com/mainsprings-and-crown-wheels), at Jinjurly's Archive.

****There’s something about him, you think, as you sit and watch the boy with the wisps of stupid smoke encircling his head like the clouds around Mary-Queen-of-Heaven, his eyes focussed on nothing but the screen at the other end of the console’s cord, his mouth moving occasionally in sync with the motion of the figure in the game, his thumbs and fingers twitching with the long-practised ease of a self-confessed addict.

There’s something about him and yet, after all these years, you don’t know what it is, because to know would be to admit things you aren’t willing to admit, to take hold of things you aren’t willing to take hold of. There’s nothing you like more than to track problems to their logical conclusions but in this case…

The thing is, Matt’s not stupid.

You know that. Of course he isn’t stupid. The mere reality of his presence at Wammy’s was proof enough to tell you that the day you met him, not to mention the fact that he managed to find you, hunt you down, after you had so specifically, so emphatically_, _left him behind (to keep him out of the way? to keep him out of danger…?). No, he’s not stupid. In fact he’s brilliant, although you offer him the epithet reluctantly, and only in the privacy of your own mind. The way he can look at things, pull them apart, put them together again, like a dozen gleaming pieces of a watch or a radio, a mess of mainsprings and crown wheels – analytical, mathematical, fucking awesome to watch when the cogs of his mind are in motion, all oiled and smooth and agile… He can look at anything, Matt can, and he understands how it ticks.

Sometimes, that scares you.

Just, sometimes. And you don’t acknowledge it as such but – sometimes, deep down, a little worm of thought (worms consumed Emperor Galerius from the dick upwards, didn’t they?) tickles at the uncomfortable corner of your guts, the corner usually reserved for definitely-not-worrying about Near’s safety, and definitely-not-missing Wammy’s, and definitely-not-feeling tendrils of Catholic guilt every time you shoot/lie/steal/gluttonise/fuck the boy before you into bleary-eyed oblivion… down there, in that uncomfortable corner of your guts, that Roger would probably call your conscience, the maggoty little worm wriggles with barbed skin and tells you that Matt can see right through you, that Matt knows the hows and the whys and the becauses, that he gets every inch of your screwed up psyche and body and soul and – heart?

Matt’s eyes slide sideways beneath your intense scrutiny (how long have you been staring at him?) and the corners of a smile flicker onto his face. “Sup?” he asks, and you thrash your thoughts from your mind as you launch yourself at him, rough but smooth, catlike, snakelike, knocking the console from his hands (“shut up, Matt, you’d basically won anyway”) and press him back against the creaking, musty stink of his old sofa, feeling his irate protest about the game shove against you in the form of hands technically stronger than yours, and then the warmth as his body relaxes beneath you, softens, welcomes, _hardens,_ all mouth and skin and familiar, comforting, fighting, magic fingers.

There’s something about him, sure, but mostly you can ignore your own thoughts where Matt is concerned, beyond the reassuring bother of watching his back, and the relief of him watching yours, and the taste of him, and the solace.

Just, sometimes. Sometimes you ask yourself why, if he can see through you, into you, knows your cogs and whirrs and crooked crown-wheels, if he can do that… then why does he stay?

Sometimes it’s better not to think things through to their logical conclusions.


End file.
